


Two Truths and a Lie

by kali_asleep



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Family Problems, Fluff, French, Identity Reveal, Makeouts, Uncertainty, apparently a bit of angst too, gratuitous fluff, rated teen for kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 14:12:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5378150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kali_asleep/pseuds/kali_asleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The game is simple enough: two truths and a lie. What's less simple is what Chat and Ladybug learn after playing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LynnLarsh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynnLarsh/gifts).



> This is my first attempt at a Ladybug fic, and after posting part one on tumblr, I can't tell you how absolutely *floored* by the love and responses I've received. Thank you all so much, and I hope you enjoy this thing in its entirety!

He had just been trying to lighten the mood a little. It had started like this:

"I have a game we can play."

From his left, Ladybug groans. Though his gaze had settled over the city of Paris, cast now in the pinks and purples of the twilight sky, Chat still knows his Lady was rolling her eyes.

"I don't want to play any of _your_ games, Chat."

It's the answer he's expecting, but he can tell his plan is already working. There's a curiosity resting on the edges of her words, a lilt that tells him she's more interested than she'd letting on. 

“Surely My Lady isn’t afraid of _losing_ to this lowly alley cat?” he presses. 

Chat turns to her and raises one eyebrow dramatically. He’s able to duck away from the swat she aims towards the side of his head, but he’s completely incapable of ignoring the hot twist in his gut when Ladybug lets loose a laugh at his antics. 

Laughter had been scarce their last few meetings. While he had no idea what life was like for the girl on the other side of the spotted mask, the slump of her shoulders when they met to patrol and the weary sighs that escaped her lips once the thrill of a successful akuma cleansing had cooled told him that all was not well. She’d seemed tired, and distant, and Chat knew he had been little better. School was becoming more demanding, photoshoots and runway appearances more frequent, and akuma attacks more direct. They were up to three attacks a week, on average, with one awful week maxing out at six. Almost always someone he knew. As much as he loved every moment spent saving the city with Ladybug, it was getting harder to enjoy when it meant hours of aching bones and blearily half-completed homework afterwards. He was getting tired of fighting his friends. 

“Please,” she says with a snort, “It’s almost not worth playing when we both know I’ll sweep the floor with your fuzzy behind.”

“That sounds like something someone afraid of losing would say,” he teases. He delights in the indignant flush that lights up the skin along the edges of her mask. Ladybug’s cheeks puff out; his heart stammers in his chest.

“Are you calling me… _a scaredy cat_?”

Chat could kiss her. Truth be told, it doesn’t take much for him to feel that way, but there’s something irresistible about the way her lips quirk up when she turns his awful jokes back on him.

“Me? Call you a scaredy cat? That’s something I would never do on _purrpose_ , My Lady.”

This time he lets her land the light smack on his shoulder; the ensuing giggle is worth it. Ladybug pulls her legs up from where she’d been letting them dangle over the edge of the roof and turns to face him. She crosses her arms over her chest, and _dieu_ did the challenge sparking behind her electrifyingly blue eyes send a jolt to his system. 

“Fine. What’s this game of yours? It doesn’t involve little mouse toys or string, does it _Chaton_?”

 _I wouldn’t play any game with you and string in public_ he thinks, and Chat’s glad he has the sense to chew the words back before he makes a fool of himself, because really, did that even make sense? 

He settles for a purred, “Not this time,” and swings his legs back onto the roof. Chat crosses them and turns to face her - their knees brush. 

“The game’s simple: two truths and a lie. Each of us will tell the other person three things. Then the other person will say if they’re right or not. Whoever gets the most right, wins.”

Ladybug tenses, ready to pull away. A frown graces her features.

“You know how I feel about discussing our… other lives.”

“It doesn't have to be about anything like that,” he says hurriedly. He places a hand on her knee, as if that would really keep her there should she change her mind. His Lady was nothing if not a force of her own. 

“It’s bound to be personal,” Ladybug argues. She neatly sweeps his hand away and begins to stand. Her reaction was far from what he’s intended, and he scrambles to fix it.

“I loathe Camembert cheese,” he starts, “and I’m allergic to feathers. My favorite color is green.” 

_Curiosity killed the cat_ , he thinks. Ladybug hovers, no longer sitting, not fully upright. Her eyes scan his face, then flick upwards. Whether she realizes it or not, she nibbles lightly on her bottom lip.

“The last one is the lie,” she says slowly. 

_Satisfaction brought it back,_ he finishes. It’s difficult to keep his expression cool: Chat loves when he’s right about his partner-in-not-crime. Done thinking it through, Ladybug’s eyes refocus and slide back to him. Waiting.

“Absolutely correct, My Lady. How’d you know?”

Ladybug sits back down, and a smile flickers across her face. 

“You made it obvious. I already knew about the feathers from Monsieur Pigeon, and over the summer you’d mentioned how mad you were over Plagg leaving a wedge of Camembert in your pocket and it melting over your stuff. I think you said something like ‘If I never saw another piece of Camembert again, that would be the happiest day of my life.’”

She rolls her eyes, likely reliving his hyperbole. “But it’s obvious even without that,” Ladybug continues, “You like green, and probably wear it a lot, because it’s a flattering color for your complexion - skin and hair and all. But it’s not your _favorite_ color. You only wear it all of the time because other people like it on you, and you always give in when it comes to things you think people like.”

Chat’s jaw drops, leaving him looking for all the world like a fish trying to gulp in air. 

“I-” he starts, but the words fail him, bad luck. “I think it’s your turn.”

The lingering look Ladybug leaves him makes it clear that his avoidance of her words hasn't gone unnoticed, but he thinks the game might be compelling enough for her to drop it. Her gaze slides back to the sky - darkening now, and spots of stars peeking out - and gently lifts a finger to her lips.

She’s quiet for the next minute, and Chat wonders what will come out. What little he’s learned of her has been through inattention or accident: she goes to a local _lycee_ , they’re around the same age, it is her mother who is Chinese. She has a crush on someone from her school. She’s achingly insecure about her Miraculous-less self. 

“I like fairy tales best, I have a younger brother, and my favorite color is pink,” she finally says. She still avoids his stare; she still looks nervous.

It strikes him, how instantly he seems to know the answer. For as little as they’d shared, how long had they been together? It was impossible not to know the person he fought beside for over a year.

“You don't have any other siblings,” Chat says decisively. 

Ladybug’s look of surprise melts into a smile. _If he had a kiss for every time she rolled her eyes at him…_

__“I am the best at this game, _non_?” _ _

__“Yeah, yeah, you got it right,” she says, flapping a hand at him dismissively, “Care to explain your sudden stroke of genius?”_ _

__“Please, I am always this brilliant,” Chat purrs. He leans forward, resting his hands on her shoulders, and whispers conspiratorially, “Whenever children are in danger from an akuma attack, you always hesitate, just for a second, before picking them up. It’s not because you don't want to rescue them - it’s more like you're figuring out how to haul them off without hurting them or something. If you had a younger sibling, you’d be so used to scooping them up that there would be no delay, no question.”_ _

__Her eyebrows raise far over the top of her mask - if he had to read her expression, he would say _impressed_. _ _

__“That… is pretty brilliant,” she admits, “I’d never noticed that myself.”_ _

__“I only ever noticed because I do the exact same thing.”_ _

__Chat knows she’ll document _that_ tidbit. Unlike her, he’s been dropping hints about himself from the start. As time passes, the clues feel more like breadcrumbs laid out with intention; it’s all he can do not to grab her by the shoulders and shout ‘Follow the trail! Find me!’ (or, when he’s feeling low, more like now, ‘I'm alone at the other end of this, and so are you. Please, let’s meet in the middle.’)._ _

__“Your turn.”_ _

__For nearly twenty minutes they meander through each other's lives. Ladybug proves more willing with each round to reveal a fraction more about herself - Chat can't tell if it's a function of the game, lowering her defenses, or if all of that resistance she’d offered for so long wasn't more of a strain on her than she’d really wanted. Regardless, he commit each detail, every implication, to memory: she preferred tea to coffee (he’d gotten that one wrong); she was interested in fashion and design; she never read the Ladyblog unless she had to (he confessed he had every update sent to his phone - Chat Noir would never miss an opportunity to see his Ladybug - and let her laugh over his blush); she made incredible macarons. Most surprisingly, Ladybug personally knew the girl who ran the Ladyblog, though she had no clue. He wants to say he knows Alya too, that maybe they do know each other, but he refuses to risk ruining the good luck he’s had in the game._ _

__In turn, he proved there was still some mystery behind the mask. She’d guessed incorrectly when he told her he had a large extended family (‘I can’t believe it, you’re so over the top, you had to be fighting for attention from cousins!’. Chat keeps the cold, empty halls of his father’s mansion to himself), and while Ladybug had gotten his prestigious, well-off upbringing right, she’d seemed surprised when he confirmed it. The tinkling giggle she let loose when he went into an in-depth description of formal place settings had been worth the memory of his father, scolding him over a misplaced salad fork._ _

__Streetlights below suddenly flicker to life, warming the streets with their orange glow. Chat would like to think they spark to attention for her, as her laugh had done the same to him countless times before. Paris erupts into brightness all around them, and Chat barely contains a gasp. It had been too long since the City of Lights had taken his breath away, but in this moment it dawns on him that it is as much the girl at his side as the city below. Chat stares at her and smiles. It’s his turn._ _

__“I am in love with the most incredible girl,” he says, softly, “I have never met someone more beautiful, and becoming Chat Noir and meeting Ladybug is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”_ _

__Sitting there on the edge of the roof, knees touching, leaning in to one another, high above the tranquilly bustling city, seems like the perfect moment to confess, and so he does. There’s no way it comes as a surprise to her, but he’s never managed to string all of the words together. The last time he’d tried had been St. Valentin’s, and had ended poorly._ _

__He’s ready for rejection. As playfully as she’d rebuked his advances before, he knows. He’s even prepared to be laughed at, swatted off, turned away with the delicate flush of cheeks only Ladybug can seem to produce. A minuscule part of him - the Adrien part, the hopeless romantic - is even ready for her to lean in, close the distance between them, say _yes_._ _

__What Chat is not ready for is the way Ladybug deflates. Without warning she buries her face in her hands and bows her head. Shoulders hunch forward, knees jerk up to her chest - she’s curled in on herself._ _

__“That’s not the way the game is played, Chat,” she says._ _

__“I know, _ma cherie_ ,” Chat says, “I cheated and told three truths instead.”_ _

__But that's not what she wants to hear either; her fingers tangle up into her hair and she tugs miserably. He still can't see her face, but the gesture strikes him as so familiar it almost gives him pause. The thought is swept aside when Ladybug speaks._ _

__“The boy I like barely knows that I exist. I’m not good enough for the affection of my partner, the only person who knows about this side of my life, the only person I can truly trust. Becoming Ladybug has never made me happier or confused me more.”_ _

__Each word hits like a bullet._ _

__He doesn't want to hear the muffled sob in her voice, but there it is. He doesn't want to hear the conflict, doesn't want to hear about another man, doesn't want to hear the _promise _, the _implication_ in her last statements. Chat reaches out to her. He starts for her shoulder then, second-guessing himself, ends up settling once more for her knee.___ _

____“That’s not the way the game is played, Ladybug. It’s called two truths and a lie, not three very obvious lies.”_ _ _ _

____Chat’s brain plays a quick game of connect-the-Ladybug-spots: he doesn’t like the picture he sees, but the weariness, the sighs, the weeks of exhaustion and unhappiness in his partner suddenly come together. Before, he’d blamed school and the work, but never would he have thought that her feelings for him, clearly at odds with her attraction to this other boy, had been the root of her gloom. The longer he thinks on it though, the more his heart seems to beat back his own despondency. He might just have a chance._ _ _ _

____“Besides,” he continues, “Who would be foolish enough not to notice _you_?”_ _ _ _

____Her answer is mumbled but unmistakable._ _ _ _

____“Adrien Agreste. And he’s not a fool, I am.”_ _ _ _

____His hands slide from her knees. Face still obscured, Ladybug doesn’t see the way his eyes widen, or how he covers his mouth._ _ _ _

____“You’ve heard of him, I’m guessing,” Ladybug says, “He goes to my school. I’ve sat behind him in class almost every day for the last year, and still, I can’t get one coherent sentence out around him.”_ _ _ _

____But that means-_ _ _ _

____“I thought maybe it’d get easier, once, well, you know-” she peels a hand from her face and gestures vaguely at him, and no, he does not know what she means by that, “but I’m useless when I’m not Ladybug.”_ _ _ _

____That Ladybug-_ _ _ _

____Her other hand leaves her face, giving him no time to school his expression. Ladybug sees the look on his face and chuckles humorlessly._ _ _ _

____“I know it must come as a shock, but it’s true. I’ve never wanted you to know who I am when I’m not Ladybug, because that _girl_ is so pathetic, so… worthless that you’d be embarrassed if you actually knew her.”_ _ _ _

____The black hair. Those blue eyes. A love of pink. Knows Alya. Sits behind him in class. He struggles to register that she’s still talking; his head seems full to bursting as the pieces swirl together._ _ _ _

____Ladybug leans back, propping herself up to stare at the sky. The motion catches his attention - he has to focus, because what she says next is going to be _important_._ _ _ _

____“Take, for example, Adrien’s last birthday. I made a scarf for him. Saved up every bit of my allowance for the right kind of yarn and spent days making sure it was right. I must have unravelled and re-knit that scarf four times before it was perfect.”_ _ _ _

____He thought he’d been hit before, that her words had taken a large enough bite out of him that he’d be fine with anything else. But then there’s a blue cashmere scarf, soft and fine, tucked under his pillow - a gift from his father._ _ _ _

____“And then I clammed up. Tried to give him the gift and instead freaked out and made an idiot of myself. So then I delivered it to his house, but forgot to sign my name - an idiot, again - and then snuck back in to sign the gift, but then Nino became possessed by an akuma and well, you were there for that, and then- and then the very next day, Adrien shows up to school. Wearing the scarf I had made him.”_ _ _ _

____Chat doesn’t want her to look back at him, because surely she’d read everything there: the confusion, the understanding, the hurt he knows she’d misinterpret. Ladybug lets out a sharp huff, sounding less tearful and more annoyed with herself._ _ _ _

____“He said it had been a gift from his father, that it was the best gift he’d ever gotten from him. And Adrien just _smiled_. I’d never seen him like that before, and I caved. I couldn’t tell him. It made me so happy to see him smile like that. I couldn’t ruin it for him. But maybe if I’d said something…”_ _ _ _

____Ladybug groans and shakes her head._ _ _ _

____This whole time- and his father-_ _ _ _

____“And I can’t ruin this for you. This person you think I am, this person you lo- care about so much. She’s the one you deserve. She’s the one who has taken too long to realize just how… miraculous you are.”_ _ _ _

____Straightening, she levels Chat with a look somewhere between amused and heartbroken. Her eyes are too blue, too easy to read, and he wonders how he didn’t see it before._ _ _ _

____“This was a stupid game, Chat.”_ _ _ _

____It had started out as a game, really. Just a little something to lighten the deep hue of melancholy they’d both been painted in. _Facile_._ _ _ _

____And it wasn't like he’d planned on letting _that_ cat out of the bag; it was more like he’d opened the bag expecting a treat and instead found that drenched and hissing beast at the bottom. _ _ _ _

____“Chat?”_ _ _ _

____Any other moment would have found him shuddering in delight at the honey-laced worry of his name on her lips. Tonight, the shudder that trips down his spine is ignorant of the girl who leans in and places a red-clad hand on his shoulder. On the narrow ledge of the roof he can feel the heat of her body. He stands._ _ _ _

____“What is it? Cat got your tongue?”_ _ _ _

____The frantic note in her voice undermines the joke. She too stands and peers up at him, trying to catch his gaze._ _ _ _

____He thinks he manages a choked “I'm fine,” before he turns and launches himself over to the next rooftop, but he’s not entirely sure._ _ _ _

____…_ _ _ _

____By the next morning, Adrien’s feelings had settled from an angry yowl to an agitated flick of the tail - metaphorically speaking. Plagg didn’t push him, didn’t say much at all. Were he not so wrapped up in his own head, Adrien might have noticed just how strangely subdued the kwami chose to act._ _ _ _

____Only once the night before did Plagg intrude into his thoughts. The little kwami, who tended to spend his nights buried in a pile of Adrien’s clothes (they smelled like cheese!) or floating just above his head, instead tucked himself onto Adrien’s pillow, right against his cheek. The space had been devoid of warmth or weight, empty of the scarf he normally slept with. It felt better with Plagg there, though his presence seemed to highlight its absence. Abandoned to the floor, the scarf huddled in a sad, limp pile._ _ _ _

____“You realize this means she likes both of you? Or all of you, I guess. Or maybe it means she likes you and me...” Plagg muses quietly. His small body hums against Adrien's cheek. It's a small comfort, to know there is at least one person (or creature) who will always be there for him._ _ _ _

____…_ _ _ _

____The first half of the next day was agony bundled in a blanket of misery. Truly, the only thing miraculous about it was that Adrien didn’t keel over and die before lunch._ _ _ _

____Despite having never spent much time regarding the girl who sat behind him, Adrien was aware from the moment she stepped through the door that something was wrong. Marinette’s greeting, normally cheerful if not incomprehensible through her nervous stammering, came to him flat and fluid. The simplest realization that Marinette _always_ said good morning to him, and that he'd _never_ registered the habit before floored him. Did he always return the kindness? Or had he just replied in automatic politeness? How many days had she greeted him only to find him distracted, likely thinking of Ladybug, to the point that he didn't respond? _ _ _ _

____Plagg must feel him tense - a moment later he delivers a sharp pinch right under Adrien’s collar. It snaps him out of his dizzying thoughts long enough to pipe up with a high-pitched, “Good morning, Marinette.”_ _ _ _

____She jumps a little at his response and nearly drops her bag. Marinette recovers quickly, sliding into the seat behind him. Papers rustle as she digs through her bag. It’s evident she doesn’t expect further conversation from him._ _ _ _

_____The boy I like barely knows that I exist._ _ _ _ _

____“Did you, uh, have a nice evening yesterday?” Adrien asks. In an instant he’s cursing himself - what a stupid, bland question to ask, what a way to try too hard._ _ _ _

____Looking up, Marinette furrows her brows. How often had he seen that exact expression from behind a red and black mask? Adrien fights the urge to slink out of the classroom, alley cat that he is. There is next to no way he doesn’t botch everything._ _ _ _

____“It was fine,” she says slowly. No stammer interrupts her words, and she sounds so much like his lady that it hurts. How much sooner would be have figured it out if she'd been able to string together a normal conversation with him before?_ _ _ _

____“Papa made me work for a few hours after school, which I wouldn't mind if I weren't always on the register and were in the kitchen instead. I met up with a friend but…” she pauses to bite her bottom lip. For an entire year, he’d been blind. “But I think we got into a fight.”_ _ _ _

____“Friend? Fight? I know you two aren’t talking about me.”_ _ _ _

____Rambunctious as always, Alya slides right into her seat and the conversation with a grin. Her chin plops down on her hand and she looks from Adrien to Marinette with big, delighted eyes. Marinette lets out a startled laugh, while Adrien merely blinks._ _ _ _

____“Yes, Alya,” Marinette says once she’s recovered, “You. Me. Alley behind the building. A fight to the death!”_ _ _ _

____They roll their eyes at each other, synchronized._ _ _ _

____“Not everything is about you-” Marinette continues._ _ _ _

____“Well it should be-”_ _ _ _

____“But I _was_ talking about, well, _you know_ before you so rudely interjected.”_ _ _ _

____Adrien is certain he’s been dropped from the girls’ conversation until Alya looks over a moment later and smirks._ _ _ _

____“Our little Marinette has a _mysterious male acquaintance_ that she keeps spending all of her time with. Apparently he goes to ‘another school’ and ‘nobody knows him’. I haven’t met him, but according to Mari they’re ‘mostly just friends’.” _ _ _ _

____Alya puts air quotes around the last part and watches Adrien’s reaction with a keen eye. Marinette tucks her face into her hands, moaning something about how embarrassing her friend is. It’s the longest conversation he’s been involved in with Marinette (as Marinette), but he feels a ripple of blistering jealousy at the mention of this friend of hers. The jealous feelings only half make sense - he’d only ever half known her, after all. But they make even less sense when Adrien puts Marinette’s words and his own night together and realizes that, if he’s right, he is the mysterious friend in question._ _ _ _

____Adrien is saved from his thoughts and any further idiocy by the appearance of the teacher, bringing along with her the first bell of a very long day._ _ _ _

____…_ _ _ _

____He should have just stayed home, for all school was wasted on him. But home would mean no Marinette, and no Marinette would mean no answers, and he’s not about to let himself chase his own tail over that. But where does he start? Pry and charm out information until every suspicion is confirmed (or worse, denied)? Confront her head on, regardless of the risks? Adrien and Chat circle the same mouse, yet can’t agree on when to pounce._ _ _ _

____There’s no clear answer, and the very presence of Marinette at his back all morning further muddies the water. Chat Noir’s enhanced hearing isn’t necessary to note each time she shifts in her chair or lets loose a quiet sigh. Hyper-aware, Adrien almost startles out of his skin when Marinette taps him on his shoulder and smoothly asks him if he could grab the pencil she’d dropped on accident. His hold on the pencil lingers as she thanks him and grabs it, and he lets himself stare a few moments longer than might be deemed acceptable. Marinette must notice, given the way she blushes and looks away._ _ _ _

____…_ _ _ _

____Plan A is to go to the source itself. Fifteen minutes before class is released for lunch, Adrien begins to prepare himself. _Breathe. Think of what you’re going to say. Don’t freak out, and don’t freak her out_. The mantra beats a tattoo in his brain that matches the quake of his heart. As focused as he is on not panicking the moment the bell rings, he does not hear the bell ring. _ _ _ _

____By the time the ebb of students alerts him to the start of the lunch hour, someone else has already come to Marinette’s desk. Adrien turns to see Juleka, tears welling at the corners of her eyes, begging Marinette for help. He tries to say something - anything - to get Marinette’s attention, maybe to ask if she wanted to eat lunch together when she was done sewing the obvious gash in Juleka’s skirt, but his words drown in the warm waters of the soft smile she gives the other girl. Marinette is gone in an instant, guiding Juleka by the shoulder. So much for Plan A._ _ _ _

____Plan B. Plan B will be easier. Adrien takes a deep breath and coaxes his mouth into action._ _ _ _

____“Hey Alya - have a minute?”_ _ _ _

____How the girl managed to eat her lunch, update her blog, and complete her homework for her afternoon class all at the same time remained one of the major mysteries of the universe. Currently, half a sandwich hung from Alya’s mouth as she tapped out a paragraph for the infamous Ladyblog on her phone._ _ _ _

____“‘Eah, whaffup?” she said through her food._ _ _ _

____Deep breath. Like yanking off a bandaid._ _ _ _

____“i just had a quick question. You know that blue scarf I wear?”_ _ _ _

____The flustered expression that rose to her face answered the question he hadn’t yet asked. Alya swallowed hard. Part of her sandwich caught in her throat, launching her into a coughing fit and Adrien into a mild panic. A few thumps on the back and a hurried apology later, Alya draws in a deep breath and answers._ _ _ _

____“Yeah,” she says, “You got it for your birthday, right?”_ _ _ _

____“Last year. It was from my dad.”_ _ _ _

____He watches her reaction carefully. It’s a stroke of irregular good luck that Alya has such a terrible poker face; were she ever to discover Ladybug’s identity, there would be no chance of it remaining a secret. It’s a good thing she has no clue._ _ _ _

____“It must be nice, with the weather getting cold soon,” Alya says, trying to keep her voice neutral. There’s still a rising tone there, a clutch of nervousness in her voice that mirrors the widening of her eyes._ _ _ _

____"It is nice, it's one of the nicest gifts I've ever gotten."_ _ _ _

____"That's great!"_ _ _ _

____She looks strained now, eyes shifting to avoid his gaze._ _ _ _

____"Alya?"_ _ _ _

____"Adrien?"_ _ _ _

____"Did Marinette make it?"_ _ _ _

____Alya is fortunate she'd put her sandwich down after their conversation began in earnest, as it's clear she would have choked on it once more. Her face flares, matching the red of her hair in seconds. There's some spluttering, frantic sounds that make their way through her lips - Adrien has never seen Alya act so much like her best friend than in that instant._ _ _ _

____"Alya."_ _ _ _

____She can't look at him. She tries, once, but her eyes dart away. Her fingers toy at the wrapper of her sandwich._ _ _ _

____"She did," Alya finally breathes._ _ _ _

____Even though at his core he'd known it, the revelation doesn't make the ache that hits his chest any softer. Standing upright on solid ground, the breath evacuates Adrien's chest like it's been punched away by the force of a hard fall. He stares down at Alya, who peeks back up at him from under her bangs._ _ _ _

____"Why- why didn't she-?"_ _ _ _

____But he can't finish the question, because the moment he tries to pull air back into his lungs, Adrien finds his heart jumpstarted into the midst of a marathon, and its relentless palpitations are painful._ _ _ _

____"Marinette made it for your birthday last year," Alya says. "She wanted to give it to you in person, but she turns into such a spaz whenever someone so much as breathes your name."_ _ _ _

____That should be news, if it means what he thinks it means, but right now it just feels like more debris swept into the hurricane of his confusion._ _ _ _

____"So after school we went to your house so that she could deliver it to you. She left it in that weird delivery box outside of your house, but Mari forgot to sign the tag on it - what a mess. She went all the way back just to fix it, but I guess it didn't matter. The next day, you were showing off your scarf to Nino, and you mentioned it had been a gift from your father and, well..." Alya trails off, a bitter smile playing on her lips, "It was obvious what happened. But it was also obvious how happy the whole thing had made you... when Marinette saw that, she decided not to tell you." Alya looks up at him. Her mouth firms into a frown and her brows furrow just so. "She's amazing like that," she continues, her sharp tone a clear warning of what could happen if he disagreed._ _ _ _

____There's a mute nod. He puts a hand to his temple, pounding, then fidgets to pull out his phone, changes his mind, and puts his hands back to his head. He's distinctly aware of the weight of each breath he takes, and how his breathing seems to be accelerating to match his racing pulse._ _ _ _

____"Adrien? Are you... are you okay?"_ _ _ _

____"I- I'm fine," he says, but he can hear how distraught he sounds._ _ _ _

____Alya's expression softens, though she sounds wary when she asks, "Are you mad?"_ _ _ _

____He thinks about it, if thinking is what the chaotic spin of words and feelings sweeping along his brain can be called._ _ _ _

____"Mad, no. Upset, yes."_ _ _ _

____It's back in an instant, Alya's sharp defensiveness, but this time there's a fire to it. "You'd better not blame this on Marinette," she snaps, "All she wanted was for you to be happy."_ _ _ _

_____It made me so happy to see him smile like that._ _ _ _ _

____Adrien groans, letting his head slip to the desk._ _ _ _

____"I'm not," he says, voice muffled, "I'm not upset with Marinette."_ _ _ _

____It's not entirely true, but it's not entirely false, either._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____…_ _ _ _

____Plagg might still be tucked in the inside pocket if his undershirt, but it is nonetheless Chat who rears his angry head the moment Adrien steps foot in the Agreste mansion. Where to direct his rage is still uncertain. Nathalie for lying to him? Ladybug, for taking the comfort of his most precious gift and rendering it useless? Marinette, for refusing to stand up for herself?_ _ _ _

____But it hits him again that Ladybug and Marinette _are the same person_ , and the new burst of anger sits lower in his gut, burns hotter, because this whole time, _they could have been_ -_ _ _ _

____Months of Chat Noir pining over Ladybug, and Marinette swooning for Adrien, both of them too buried in their own feelings to see the person _right beside them_._ _ _ _

____Adrien is, above all, livid with himself, but Nathalie makes the unknowing mistake of stepping into the hallway in front of him, and the claws immediately come out._ _ _ _

____“Nathalie,” he snaps._ _ _ _

____There’s rumble of satisfaction in his chest when she startles to attention - a reaction he’s only ever seen his father provoke. She glances up from her tablet, confirming that it is indeed _not_ Gabriel Agreste before her. Yet Nathalie does not relax once she sees the displeasure on Adrien’s face. In one hand is clutched the blue scarf she’d delivered to him on his birthday months ago. Dark eyes move to the scarf, then back up to his face. Just like with Alya, Nathalie’s strained expression confirms everything he’s heard._ _ _ _

____“Adrien?”_ _ _ _

____He has to admire how even her voice remains._ _ _ _

____“At my last birthday, you brought me this as a present.”_ _ _ _

____“I did.”_ _ _ _

____“And you told me it came from my father.”_ _ _ _

____Her mouth tightens to a fine line. She raises her tablet, ready to dismiss him._ _ _ _

____“I did. Now, if you’re done recounting basic fact-”_ _ _ _

____To finally speak is to break the spell. Any last vestiges of magic in a blue scarf, swept away._ _ _ _

____“You lied to me.”_ _ _ _

____Nathalie sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. Some small bubble of vexation in his chest deflates. So that’s it. Not much else to be done._ _ _ _

____“Adrien, it was almost a year ago,” she starts, “and you should be aware by now that your father is far too caught up in work to find the time to purchase gifts on his own. He trusts me to make those kinds of decisions.”_ _ _ _

____His grip on the scarf loosens. Marinette means nothing to the woman before him, and Adrien means little more. But Nathalie is just a facade, a bizarre cover for his own father who must, Adrien knows, be even less concerned._ _ _ _

____“You didn’t even purchase it, Nathalie,” Adrien spits, “My friend made it and you passed it off as a gift from my father. I suppose you’re lucky that it’s flawless - imagine how upset _père_ would have been to be associated with some handmade piece of garbage. Then again, he does associate with you, so he’s used to it.”_ _ _ _

____Blood drains from her face as Nathalie’s surprise turns into outrage._ _ _ _

____“Why, you-!”_ _ _ _

____He turns on his heel and storms out of the house before she can continue, before she can decide to hold her tongue or hurl abuse._ _ _ _

____Adrien makes it three blocks before the venom of his words addles his brain. Without a doubt there will be hell to pay when he gets home - from both Nathalie and his father. Adrien had been raised better than that, raised to be polite, to listen, to bend to his father’s indomitable force and never break. Whatever bond of pity he’d had with Nathalie had surely snapped in his outburst. His father, ever distant, would discipline without discretion, without ever trying to understand._ _ _ _

____Chat had brought Adrien freedom, and Chat did not need Gabriel Agreste or Nathalie Sancouer. Neither did Adrien._ _ _ _

____Marinette Dupain-Cheng made him a scarf by hand for his birthday. Marinette had saved his life, again and again and again. Chat needed Marinette, and so did Adrien._ _ _ _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Adrien's job to be nervous, not Chat's. That doesn't make talking to Ladybug any easier, though.

Chat has never been this nervous. _Adrien_ has been nervous - plenty of times, some of the most vexing instances today, even - but until now the green glow of his transformation always seemed to whirl away his woes. Rather than saunter, Chat stomps; rather than a purr, he feels a growl stuck in the back of his throat. 

What irritates him most is the lack of certainty. Months ago, when they’d set their patrol schedule, it had been with the intent of alternating nights. It had seemed reasonable at first that they would split the duty to keep either one of them from burning out, or to allow the other person a few free nights in their civilian life. But that had been months ago, and in the last two months both had fallen into the habit of joining the other on patrol even on their off day. It had started by accident, he thinks, the night after a particularly nasty akuma attack. The attack had been in the very _arrondissement_ Chat was scheduled to begin in that night, and when Ladybug looked down on the street and realized where they were, she’d offered him a shrug and a light ‘May as well keep you company’. 

Tonight was technically Chat’s night on. Ladybug had shown up every night for his patrol for weeks on end, but that didn't mean she would show now. 

He picks up his pacing, on his way to wearing circles in the rooftop. The vintage bookstore below has been closed for over an hour, leaving any detection of him unlikely. That doesn't mean that he shouldn't be wary. The last thing Chat needed was an akuma or law enforcement, or worse, an unruly fan, to interfere with what he hoped would be happening tonight.

“Come on,” he hisses under his breath. Chat pauses long enough to kick at a small chunk of concrete dislodged from the roof. 

Just his luck, that Ladybug would decide to be a no show on what was arguably the most important evening of their lives. Would she push him away without a word, trying to keep her identity her own at the cost of their partnership?

No. Chat shakes his head, trying to fling the thought away. Questions and uncertainties were Adrien. Chat had to be answers. 

Five more minutes. That’s all he would give her. His patrols should have started nearly twenty minutes ago, and he wasn’t about to let his _feelings_ get in the way of his duty. Definitely _not_. 

From behind him something creaks. He spins on his heel towards the sound. His hand is already on the baton at his back when he processes Ladybug paused halfway through the door to the roof, staring at the door knob as though it had personally affronted her. Her nose wrinkles and her brows dip as she pouts at the thing. 

“Sorry I’m late,” she whispers, like they’re not on a roof, like she didn’t just come through the oldest, loudest door in all of Paris. 

It’s her. From toe to tip. From the way her shoulders scrunch up towards her ears in annoyance to the pop of her hips as she swings past the door, letting it shut behind her. Marinette.

“I got held up by a friend,” Ladybug continues, walking towards him, “I don’t know how it’s going for you, but mine are starting to get a smidge suspicious about all of my sudden disappearances. There are only so many times that ‘last minute babysitting’ and ‘I can’t, I’ve got to wash my hair’ are going to fly.”

The tension in his chest unbuckles. Chat can breathe. 

“I know you would never avoid me on _purrpose_ ,” he says. Chat tries to shoot her his classic smirk, but a giddy smile slips out instead. 

She returns his smile, and her shoulders go slack as whatever concern had held her stiff loosens. Her walk is pure confidence, like she’s never been more comfortable in her life. Deep in his gut there’s a hot and heavy twist. His pulse picks up in his ears. 

“Doing alright?” 

It’s with ease that she loops an arm around his elbow and rests her hand on his upper arm. The struggle is not to melt into her right then. Blue eyes peer up at him. The mask does a good job of obscuring much of the dark circles planted just below her eyes, but they two of them are close enough now for him to notice. He puts a hand on her arm to keep his hands from drifting up to cup her face. His thumbs twitch - they want to trace under each eye and sweep the weariness away. 

“Better now that you’re here, My Lady,” he says on a happy sigh. His smile doesn’t falter, not once. “Last night and this morning were… pretty _pawful_ for the cat on the other side of the mask, but everything turned out okay. Wonderful, even.”

Ladybug huffs at his pun, indignant, but holds smiles nonetheless. She tugs him over to the edge of the building so that they can look over the Jardins du Luxembourg. Chat watches as Ladybug’s eyes track the gentle paths of the pedestrians below. The look seems part benevolent shepherd watching her flock, part queen surveying her holdings. Both suit her. He could watch her watch them for days. He knows he doesn't have much time left.

“Good,” she says softly. Ladybug doesn't pry - never pries - though just this once Chat wishes she would. Oh, the things he has to share.

“Ready to go?”

“Almost,” Chat says. He looks down at her and finds her staring back up at him. 

“I wanted to say thank you first,” he continues.

“For what?”

Adrien had spent hours rehearsing what he was going to say. Each word, every intonation, down to the breath and the bend of his brow. But what’s easy in front of a bathroom mirror becomes impossible in the mirror of her eyes, when they’re inches apart and all he wants to do is learn how her lips feel under his. The breath he takes to steady himself comes out shakily. All those poetic sentiments seem to vanish with it.

“Thank you for my scarf, Marinette.”

It’s two-part reaction. For a split second she smiles, warm and shy, and then she freezes. Ladybug’s smile jerks into a harsh line.

“What did you just say?” she whispers. 

Her hands are still on his arm, but her grip has tightened painfully. Chat’s never seen her expression this wide open, this fearful. 

There’s no taking the words back. Forward is the only direction left to him.

“I wish you hadn't felt like you had to keep quiet about it. I wish we could have started being friends all that time ago. At school, I mean.”

Hundreds of akuma, hundreds of life threatening moments, and Chat has never seen Ladybug as scared as she does now. Her lips part, she blanches. He knows there will be bruises under his suit from where she holds on. 

“What did you call me?”

“Marinette.”

He could say her name forever. But she recoils, finally letting go of him. She staggers back and nearly trips on her own feet. Never does she break his stare, but she’s no doubt maneuvering towards the door.

“Marinette, stay. Please.” 

The pleading in his voice is all Adrien, and he realizes he’s doing this all wrong. Ladybug hesitates long enough for him to hiss, “Plagg, come on out.”

His transformation peels away with a flash. Scorched, it takes his eyes a moment to readjust. 

Ladybug’s lips form a delicate circle, an unspoken _Oh._ As if in slow-motion, her hands rise to cover her mouth. She’s gone red, and gets redder as Adrien approaches. He’s a few feet from her when she breathes something.

The warmth is unbelievable. Bathed in a soft pink light, Adrien marvels at how much power comes off of her fading transformation alone. He’s blanketed in a gentle caress of feeling - it trails around his neck and winds up to ears, as if to say _All is well, now_. The magic dims. 

Marinette peeks out from over her fingertips. Her hands don’t drop, trying to hide what her mask no longer can: the redness of her cheeks, the smattering freckles on her nose. 

“Adrien…?” she says in a muffled voice.

“ _C’est moi_.”

“You’re Chat.”

It’s not a question.

“Yup.” 

Adrien spreads his arms and shrugs a little, opening himself to her gaze. Instead, Marinette squeezes her eyes shut and groans.

“I-I’ve been such an idiot,” she says, “You must be so disappointed. We, ah, we don’t have to-”

He closes the final few feet between them and places his hands over hers. She doesn’t resist when he pulls her hands away from her face, but the discomfort, the worry, is evident. _Keep yourself together_ , Adrien repeats to himself, _Don’t freak her out_. It’s a hard impulse to control. To not intertwine his fingers with hers and tug her to him seems an impossible feat. 

“I’m not disappointed,” he says softly, “You could have been Chloe.”

What he thought would be a comfort only seems to upset Marinette more - her lips purse, and he can feel her shaking. 

“I also could have been anyone other than boring old Marinette.”

Her eyes drift down to their hands and she shakes her head. 

“All of the boys in all of Paris, and _you_ had to be Chat,” she says. 

The edge in her voice cuts with shocking force, and his heart gives a painful thud. Just last night she’d said- she couldn’t really mean-

“I… I thought you liked me?” His words sound frailer than he’d like. 

The “I do!” that follows comes out more as an anguished moan than actual words. Marinette draws her hands back like she wants to cover her face again, but only succeeds in yanking him forward. Their knees bump and their bodies sway to regain balance.

“I do,” she says again, quieter, “I really, really do. A minute. I need a minute, I think.” 

He lets her go and shoves his hands in his pockets to keep himself from pulling her back. Marinette ducks past him and stiffly walks over to the roof’s ledge. Carefully she sits and crosses her legs, back to him. There’s a flutter of movement at her shoulder - something small and bright red - and Marinette cocks an ear towards it. _Her kwami_ , he realizes, and the desire to simply know _everything_ about her surges up from his chest. 

Plagg, hovering at the back of his collar, floats past his ear and beelines for Marinette. Adrien is so stunned he almost doesn’t catch him, but at the last moment he plucks the tiny kwami out of the air. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Adrien mutters. Plagg wriggles and sticks his tongue out at Adrien before going limp. He floats, belly up, and glares at his captor.

“To catch up with Tikki, duh. What gives?”

“Tikki?”

Together, they glance over at the girl. It’s impossible to hear what she’s saying, but it’s clear she’s deep in conversation with her small companion. Marinette is gesticulating wildly, occasionally grabbing her head and tugging at her hair. He can just make out Tikki’s tiny arm patting the girl on the back. 

“Yeah, she’s a bit of a goody two-shoes,” Plagg says, rolling his eyes, “but she’s okay company. It’s been forever since us kwamis have had a good get-together, with your Ladybug all up in arms about her identity.”

“I’m sure you’ll get your chance,” Adrien says, still keeping his voice low, “But I think... maybe... we should just leave Marinette be for right now.”

Plagg snorts and tugs a little at his tail, but Adrien holds firm. “You humans and your crushes. At the rate you two go, I'll be 6000 and you’ll still be all ‘Oh, ah, euh!’. It took you two long enough to figure each other out as it was.”

Adrien narrows his eyes.

“Well I _was_ about to let you go, Plagg, but now I think you have some explaining to do. Did you know Marinette was Ladybug? This whole time?”

The kwami’s gaze slides to the side and he crosses his arms. “Just because _you_ were too dumb to see all of the obvious signs…”

“Plagg…”

“I may or may not have been able to sense Tikki every time you two were close. For a while it was hard to tell which one of your classmates it was, but after that weirdo art kid got possessed by the akuma and you guys were stuck on that boat together, it was pretty obvious.”

His black nose goes up in the air, an attempt at defiance, but Adrien can see Plagg’s ears flatten. 

“And I guarantee Tikki’s known since then, too,” Plagg finishes with a sniff.

“Why didn't you tell me!” Adrien yelps, throwing his hands up in the air.

Judging by the way Marinette’s head whips around, she must have heard. Her eyes are still wide, though now rimmed in red. Adrien and Plagg shrink back simultaneously. 

“Sorry- just- Plagg…?” Adrien says. He lets go of Plagg’s tail, and the kwami shoots her a wave and a grin.

She rubs her eyes and returns a watery smile. Tikki pops up over her shoulder and spots Plagg. Her two antenna stick straight up at the sight, and she tucks back besides Marinette’s ear to whisper something. After a moment, Marinette nods.

Tikki zooms over, flying straight for Adrien’s face. He feels the rush of air as she speeds past his ear and collides with Plagg. The two tumble away in a buzz of laughter and groans. When the two finally stop spinning, Tikki flutter-drags them both back around to Adrien’s front. 

“Hi, I’m Tikki!” she chirps. Tikki sounds like trilling flutes and honey, and it’s so warm, it makes so much sense. “It’s nice to officially meet you, Adrien.”

He shakes the tiny paw she offers, utterly charmed. And it’s clear he’s not the only one: Plagg’s taken to nuzzling up under her chin, only stopping to scowl and look away when he notices Adrien noticing.

“I thought it would be better for you and Marinette to find each other on your own, but…” Tikki glances at her charge, who has gone back to staring out at the gardens below, “Maybe I should have said something.”

Adrien bites his bottom lip, a weight in his stomach. He wishes he’d known forever ago, wishes he’d seen it as easily as Tikki and Plagg. Wishes one of them had spilled. But he can’t hold it against Tikki, knowing how hard Marinette had fought to keep her identity safe. As unlikely it seems of Plagg, he must have had some respect for Ladybug’s wishes as well.

“Is she mad?”

She shakes her head. “Confused, mostly. A little scared.”

“Scared? Of what? Me?”

This time, Tikki nods a sad affirmative and sighs. “Marinette doesn’t always see how wonderful she really is. She thinks there’s no way you could possibly love her.” She pauses and drifts a little closer, smile returning to her face. “But I know that’s not true.”

The blush that burns his cheeks is impossible to quench, and she laughs delightedly at the sight of it. As red as his face, Tikki swoops up to his cheek and places a light kiss there. Adrien stammers out something that ultimately fails to be words. 

“Don’t worry, Adrien. Marinette is the bravest person I know. It won’t be long at all until she’s ready to face her fears.”

“Ch- Adrien?”

They freeze at Marinette’s voice. Her back still faces them, but she’s sat up straighter and unfolded her legs. Adrien can tell she’s tipped her head back and is listening, waiting.

“See?” Tikki whispers. She pats him in the same place she left her kiss and then zips away, Plagg following behind. 

A deep breath is necessary before he crosses the roof to her. Adrien exhales slowly, bracing himself and trying to swallow the nerves clawing up into his throat. He goes. 

Marinette’s legs kick lightly at the air as they dangle over the building’s ledge. At first glance the motion comes across as carefree, but Adrien can see how she squares her shoulders. On the precipice of something this big, Marinette is steeling herself for battle. 

“Marinette…”

She turns to look up at him. Her lips purse and one brow pops up, curious. Just like that, he’s taken captive.

“When did you figure it out?” she asks, unwavering. 

“Last night. Just last night, when you starting talking about, ah, you know, about…”

Adrien can’t bring himself to say it. 

“About you,” Marinette supplies, “You you. Like, current you.”

“Yeah. You talked about the scarf, and sitting behind me, and it all just clicked.”

She nods along with his words, face unreadable. Marinette doesn’t pick up when his sentence trails off, leaving his heartbeats to fill the silence. Were it not for the suffocating tension, he’d be content in the lull to simply take her in. Even disguising her emotions Marinette proves lovely, especially framed as she is by the darkening sky. 

“Why did you leave when you figured out who I was?”

Adrien flinches - it’s clear she tries to hide the bitterness in her words, but it still scrapes over him. There was no way she could have determined why he freaked out and fled. The memory of her from this morning, unenthusiastic and tired, makes him wish the roof below his feet would collapse, swallow him. 

“You making my scarf meant that it hadn’t been a gift from my father. He hadn’t known about it, or cared. After thinking for all of that time that he might have been different, it was… it was a shock. My mind went blank. I just didn’t think.”

Sadness worms its way onto her features, and the fact that she could still be upset for him, could care so much as to let her own feelings go unknown for his sake astounds him. Disbelief and wonder pound at his chest in equal measure. Marinette’s eyes slip closed for a moment and she takes a long, heavy breath. Her head rises an inch and when she opens her eyes again, it’s with a look somewhere between cautious and defiant.

“It wasn’t because I’m… me?”

“It wasn’t because you’re you,” Adrien says firmly, “The only disappointment from last night was my father. Never you.”

The sound she makes is so slight that he almost doesn’t catch it. Another ‘oh’, soft and happy, curls around her lips as they toy with the idea of a smile. He catches her glancing up at him and decides that he never wants to look away again. 

“So this is it, huh?” she asks, “Us? Ladybug and Chat Noir, insufferable idiots, Paris’ heroes brought down by their own awkward timing.”

The setting sun weaves golden streaks into her hair and drapes over her shoulders, radiant. Adrien would curse the lost year, the months of inattention where Marinette sat on his periphery, were in not for the desire to stay on this roof and make up for all of that lost time in one sitting. The void of her only made greater the space she could fill - he would take in the sight until all of him was overrunning with her.

“A-at least now I can put together most of a sentence,” she says, still stumbling on her words when she registers how intently he’s staring, “Adrien seemed so impossible to talk to, but Chat? Easy peasy. When I could get a word in edgewise, of course.”

And suddenly, she’s _teasing_ him. No masks, no secrets. Marinette teasing him. Adrien. Wholly awed by the change, he complies when she pats the space on the ledge next to her. 

“Let’s play a game,” Marinette says. Her thigh rests against his; neither shift away.

“It’s called two truths and a lie. Heard of it before?”

It takes him a moment to respond, frozen as he is by the cold trickle of fear. She shatters the sheen of ice when she nudges him in the ribs with an elbow.

“Don't worry, I'll start.”

A flicker of concern passes over her face now. She breaks the hold she’d had on his gaze and stares down past her knees, down to the city. Marinette takes a deep breath.

“I like Adrien Agreste. I like Chat Noir. I've definitely never thought about kissing either of them.”

Adrien doesn’t need to breathe. Not now, not ever, not when Marinette’s words knock the air right out of him and replace his insides with absolute fire. He knows he should ask but he doesn’t - he grabs her hand and presses it to his lips. They’ve gone through this motion a million times, but somehow the intensity becomes exponential now that they’ve dropped their masks. Her skin feels soft. Her eyes are very, very blue, and she does not roll them to the heavens when he lets go. 

“The last one,” he says, “is the lie, I think. I hope.”

“You’re right,” Marinette says slowly, feeling out the weight of each word as it comes, “You are good at this game, Adrien.”

If it were within the realm of scientific reality, he might have started glowing then and there. Every nerve in his body lights up, thrumming with the way Marinette intones his name: sweetness and a shiver, like she’s been waiting to say it, like she can’t believe it. What follows is nothing new, not to either of them, but it seems truer than it ever has before. 

“I am in love with the most incredible girl,” Adrien says, “I have never met someone more beautiful. I’ve also never thought about kissing her.”

And to think, he’d been getting used to hearing her voice without her tripped and stammered syllables. Marinette makes a series of embarrassed noises, each rising in pitch and becoming less and less coherent. 

“But, I’m-” she gestures to herself, wrinkling her nose. _I'm Marinette_ , she wants to say, as if that would dampen the surge of fire just under his skin. Adrien can’t - won’t - help it, he leans in until it is not just their thighs that touch, but the entire line of their bodies, hip to shoulder. He wants the air left between them to vacate. He wishes he could lean in a few inches closer, but the last thing he wants to do is crowd or push her away. Instead, he settles for words.

“You’re what? The only person on Earth who knows my secret? The girl who has saved my life more times than I can count? The creator of the best gift I've ever gotten-”

“Ch- _Adrien_ ,” she groans, hiding her face in her hands once more. Pink still stands out on her skin. He'd never get tired of that color. 

“Too kindhearted for your own good? The best friend and partner I've ever had?.” 

The words pass his lips without thought because he’s so flooded with what’s _true_. Adrien had known Ladybug since the first day he sat down in front of her and returned her choked, timid hello. He’d known Marinette since the first day she’d swung down from the Paris skyline, yo-yo spinning at her side. To separate the two struck him as impossible, needless. 

“Stop it!” she whines, sounding mortified, but her protest is weak. Adrien catches a sliver of a grin from between her fingers. 

“Why should I?” 

Marinette’s response is low and garbled. Despite his best efforts, Adrien can’t make it out, but he gets the feeling it’s more than a little embarrassed.

“What was that, Marinette?” he asks, trying and failing to control his teasing tone. He can’t tell if he’s Chat or Adrien anymore, and for the first time ever, he doesn’t have to care because _she likes all of him_. 

Her arms go limp and her face is revealed to be a spectacular palette of pinks and reds and blue. Marinette puts on her best exasperated face and won’t meet his eyes, but she can’t control her quiver as she says, “You should stop because I would like to kiss you, Chat. You, I mean. Adrien. Kiss you. And you’re talking too much for me to do that.”

 _You’re the one who’s babbling,_ Adrien wants to say, but he’d rather not give her a reason to go back on her sentiment (and he knows Ladybug would, if only to tease him). So he nods and produces a jumble of sounds that might mean something like ‘I would like that,’ and then Marinette is turning her body toward him and stretching up just a little, staring at him with want and worry and ghosting her lips lightly across his. 

The touch sends lightning down his spine - Adrien grabs her by the hips to ground himself. Wordless, they shift until they’re no longer half-dangling on the side of the roof. There’s an awkward shuffle as knees and elbows and feet are arranged to something resembling comfortable on the hard concrete. Satisfied, Marinette leans in to Adrien’s pull and kisses him again. She wraps her arms around his neck and their knees bump together and Adrien forgets what being cold ever felt like. 

For the first few forevers they simply press their lips together. It would be ungainly if it weren’t so perfect - neither of them knows quite what to do with their hands or their mouths - but presentation is ignored for the sake of sensation. Eventually he settles for running his hands up and down her sides, while she dedicates herself to gently dragging her fingers through his hair. 

The nighttime sky is lit with stars and the Eiffel Tower glimmers, hazy in the distance, by the time Adrien deepens their kiss. It’s a hesitant question that he starts with a flick of his tongue and ends by letting his teeth graze gently across her bottom lip. Her answer is punctuated by a heady gasp and a sudden pull at his hair. Marinette’s lips part. 

Where they go from there, Adrien can’t keep track of, but he knows it’s marked by too many painful collisions with their teeth, a moan he isn’t able to swallow in time, and a shocked giggle from Marinette the first time their tongues slide together. Eventually they find a rhythm. From that point on, Adrien is certain he’s never known anything except for the feel of Marinette on his skin.

Only once does Marinette pull away. The two of them are lit in the gleam of streetlights and passing cars, but he can see how undone she looks even in the dark. 

“We should probably stop. Patrols,” she says, chest heaving as she sucks in forgotten air. 

“Paris can survive one night without us,” Adrien says. He dips back in to leave a quick kiss on her lips. Marinette tries to follow his lips as he leans away, showing her hand.

“That’s a lie,” Marinette says, laughing, but she lets him kiss her again and again anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to stop by and chat at brettanomycroft.tumblr.com ! Mostly cartoon stuff, sometimes previews! And thank you, thank you, thank you again!


End file.
